"He was thrown overboard, and perished at sea. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. ’ ‘Gad, there is someone there,’ exclaimed Hilary beside him, shading his eyes with one hand. Turning, she flew for the nearest door. . Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, to think of one’s troubles at all except of how to overcome them. Don't feel fussed upon my account.
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